


words, after

by setoso



Series: to feel tall, to feel small [2]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: 2019 World Figure Skating Championships, An Attempt At Comfort, Emotional Constipation, Established Relationship, M/M, unbetaed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 08:02:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18279128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/setoso/pseuds/setoso
Summary: He doesn’t say anything. Shoma is not sure there’s anything left to be said.





	words, after

**Author's Note:**

> written on a whim to deal with the aftermath of worlds, unbetaed.

  
  
  


Yuzuru doesn’t come to him, not that Shoma expected him to. They both know better than to fuss over their placements and scores when the wounds are still open and raw.

They still bump into each other in between interviews; Shoma more than ready to call it a day, Yuzuru still in his costume, his eyes dark like coal that’s waiting to ignite.

Yuzuru pulls him behind a door, to one of the empty dressing rooms. He doesn’t say anything. Shoma is not sure there’s anything left to be said. Work hard, don’t give up, you can do it next time, it all sounds the same after you’ve heard it enough times. Yuzuru’s silence would have been blissful, if not for the fact that his dark eyes scream the loudest Shoma’s had to endure the whole day, a grating noise that rubs into his bones until he’s scared they’ll turn to dust.

“You okay?” Yuzuru asks at last, rubbing a hand across Shoma’s hip. They don’t hug because Yuzuru is still drenched in sweat, and because there’s no time. In a couple minutes Yuzuru has to be dressed and ready to get tossed back and forth between TV sets for more interviews, and Shoma has to go back to the hotel, lick his wounds and start considering comeback plans.

“I just feel disappointed in myself.” It’s hard to swallow the lump in his throat when Yuzuru is staring at him like that.

“Don’t be. You gave a good fight.”

Shoma makes a face, averting his gaze. “How was that _any_ good? It was a lost cause from the start.”

Yuzuru’s hand pulls away. “Stop saying that. You want me to pity you? You think it would help you land the jumps next time?” he asks, and it sounds accusatory enough for Shoma to clamp down.

“No. I never said that.”

“Then stop acting like it.”

“Am I not allowed to be upset?” Shoma’s staring back, now, feeling the embers inside his own belly stir, fueled by frustration.

Yuzuru’s pale mouth twists, lips thinning out. A drop of sweat slides down his cheek, a smooth trajectory towards his jaw, and Shoma is reminded of Moscow, the wet tracks on Yuzuru’s face as he numbly explained the situation. Before he’s able to respond there’s a knock on the door, someone calling Yuzuru’s name, telling him to please hurry up.

Shoma takes a step back. “Congrats on your second place finish,” he says as he pulls the door open, tone mostly dull, although he can’t keep the sourness out of it completely.

 

 

As he makes his way to the exit of the building Shoma reminds himself that Yuzuru is probably pitying his own self more, currently too little room in his heart for anything else.

 

 

Javier helps, in the hotel. First, when he pats Shoma’s head and puts a comforting hand on his shoulder, murmuring soft encouragements in his ear. And then later, when Yuzuru makes a beeline for Javi’s room. Shoma has learned a long time ago to not be jealous of these meetings, that Yuzuru needs Javi in a different way than he needs Shoma. Apparently it still does the trick, because soon after there’s a knock on Shoma’s suite door. Yuzuru stands there, looking exhausted and pale, lips bitten raw. He rubs at his nose in this way he does when he’s fiddling with something nervously, eyes not really making contact.

 _I’m sorry_ , is what he whispers when they’re sat inside, a respectable distance between them. Yuzuru twists his fingers into the bedding, then he leans back and flops onto the bed completely, his hair fanning out like dark ink. _I shouldn’t have said those things_.

Shoma has half a mind to ask if he’s sorry for the actual act of phrasing them in words or if he regrets the very thought of them, but he’s spent the last couple hours desperately trying to find his own footing. Any form of apology would do, at this point; anything to help glue the torn pieces of his pride back together, to chase away the dull ache in his ribcage.

There’s something haunting in Yuzuru’s glistening eyes when he softly admits, _I was being cruel to you when, really, I just wanted to be cruel to myself_. The remorseful words sound immensely satisfying, but at the same time they spark a muted kind of fury in Shoma’s belly. There he goes again, trying to be the better man, to condemn the ugly parts of himself, always prim and perfect; denying the pain weighing down his body and soul. Yuzuru needs to stop playing this game where he pretends to stand five feet above everyone else, in a different wavelength of existence. But the unexpected heat of anger shizzles out immediately, leaving the same old familiar burning ache of bitterness in its trail. Shoma can’t stay mad at Yuzuru for long, the same way that Yuzuru can’t, because he knows that deep down in their core they share more similarities than whatever meets the eye.

Yuzuru makes a wounded sound and looks like he wants to kiss him but is unsure whether Shoma would want that, if he’d allow it, so Shoma takes the initiative and presses his mouth to the softness of Yuzuru’s jaw, to show that, _yes_. Yuzuru reacts to it like an affection starved kitten, pushing himself into Shoma’s side, seeking out comfort and warmth. He drops a series of pecks across Shoma’s temple, hand getting lost in his hair, still a little stiff from hair gel because Shoma hasn’t had enough energy for a shower yet. 

“We should sleep”, murmurs Shoma, and Yuzuru nods, despite the fact that his fingers tighten across the front of Shoma’s shirt.

“We’ll talk tomorrow?” It’s a mere whisper dropped on top of Shoma’s hair as Yuzuru pulls close enough for a last kiss to his forehead. Shoma doesn’t remember tomorrow’s schedule, then with a start he realizes it’s gala practice, so he nods.

“Okay, then,” Yuzuru’s voice keeps getting quieter and Shoma’s tired, he’s so tired. He grunts a muffled goodnight and turns on his side, allowing his sore eyes to finally slip shut, feels the burning behind his eyelids spread. He feels Yuzuru arranging the duvet around his neck but he keeps his eyes closed, seeking the promising peacefulness of sleep. It’s easy to tell that Yuzuru is lingering around, probably tidying up Shoma’s clothes and messy room. It’s both a little annoying yet heartbreakingly endearing. He knows it’s one of Yuzuru’s ways to show he cares, to prove that he’s making space inside himself for Shoma to fit, carving out the rotting bits for something sweeter, fresh.

Shoma wakes up a couple hours later with a dry mouth, too dry to go back to sleep without fishing for his water bottle first. He reaches blindly for the nightstand but there’s nothing there and he frowns in his sleep, starting to push himself up, trying to remember where he left his bag. The lamp next to the small couch is surprisingly still on, Yuzuru half sprawled half squished on the pillows there, his injured leg propped up on the armrest. He looks like he’s cold and uncomfortable, covered only in Shoma’s team Japan jacket. Something soft and bittersweet claws itself up Shoma’s throat at the sight. 

Gently, he shakes Yuzuru’s shoulder until his eyes are pried open with difficulty. Yuzuru squints, disoriented, bringing a hand up to rub across his face.

“If you’re gonna spend the night, at least come to bed,” Shoma croaks out, voice rough from sleep. He doesn’t really wait for Yuzuru’s response, already making his way back to bed. He’s already under the covers when he hears Yuzuru’s uneven footsteps (his good leg must have fallen asleep or perhaps he is still limping), then feels the duvet being pulled away and then, then, there’s warmth spreading against his back. Yuzuru breathes out the same soothing warmth to Shoma’s nape, lips soft in their caress. 

“I love you,” Yuzuru murmurs and Shoma grunts in agreement, too tired for his mouth to form the same words. He’ll have to remember to properly return the sentiment tomorrow, when they’re both completely awake and slightly further away from everything that took place today.

“Sleep,” he mumbles instead, more noise than actual word, and he feels Yuzuru’s arm tighten around his waist before its weight disappears, Yuzuru rolling around to get more comfortable.

There’s a lot to unpack and even more to pack after this event, and Shoma both dreads and anticipates the next day; a fresh start, the painfully long road ahead. But, for now, he relishes the comfort the darkness of the room provides him with, the knowledge that if he kicks his foot out he’ll graze Yuzuru’s calf, hear his tiny squeak of surprise.

Tomorrow. They’ll deal with everything tomorrow.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> in conclusion, I am bitter :(


End file.
